


The Inquisition Needs a Formidable Leader

by caitirin



Series: The Chronicles of Teithranen Lavellan: Plant-Obsessed Soft-Hearted Inquisitor [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Diary/Journal, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, M/M, POV Varric Tethras, Short, Varric Tethras Writes, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, becoming the inquisitor, journal excerpt, soft hearted inquisitors, teithranen lavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 01:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14739437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitirin/pseuds/caitirin
Summary: Varric Tethras reflects on what it means for a Dalish Elf to become The Inquisitor.----The stories say that Inquisitor Lavellan, the famed Herald of Andraste, stands six feet tall.  They say that his eyes glow with a holy fire and that he calls lightning from the sky to smite the wicked.  They say that the faithless are struck down before him by his righteous fury.  That his voice can make the very mountains tremble and he shakes the foundations of buildings with his mighty footsteps.  They say that he walks in the Maker’s light, casting all else into shadow in his wake.The stories say a lot of things.  Most of them are absolute horseshit.





	The Inquisition Needs a Formidable Leader

**Author's Note:**

> My Inquisitor's name is Teithranen Lavellan (Tei). He is basically a marshmallow of feelings and worry.
> 
> Big thanks to my wife, as always, for beta reading.
> 
> The term "da’lath’in" was taken from Fenxshiral's Project elvhen. THANK YOU!

[Excerpt from the Personal Journals of Varric Tethras, recorded during his time with the Inquisition]

The stories say that Inquisitor Lavellan, the famed Herald of Andraste, stands six feet tall.  They say that his eyes glow with a holy fire and that he calls lightning from the sky to smite the wicked.  They say that the faithless are struck down before him by his righteous fury. That his voice can make the very mountains tremble and he shakes the foundations of buildings with his mighty footsteps.  They say that he walks in the Maker’s light, casting all else into shadow in his wake. 

The stories say a lot of things.  Most of them are absolute horseshit.  The reality of Inquisitor Lavellan, famed Herald of Andraste, is that he’s five feet tall and a couple of inches.  He’s just a few years past twenty and he’s lived most of those years travelling with his clan in the forests and villages of the Free Marches.  He’s skinny in that kind of wild and wiry way that most Dalish are. His eyes are light-colored and while they do glow, it’s just that Dalish eyes reflect light in the same way that feline eyes do.  And he does call lightning, but it’s not noticeably different than how any other storm mage does it. His voice is soft and his words considered, and he’s more likely to tremble than the mountains he now lives in.  He cries over the sad stories of refugees and rescues lost farm animals. He will bring flowers to your wife’s shrine if he finds out that you can’t get there safely. He’s more at home in a garden than in a war room and he rescues lost kittens.  As for walking in the Maker’s light, that part might be true, but there’s no divine spotlight on the man.

But that’s the Inquisitor that very few people ever meet.  The Inquisitor known only to the Inner Circle. Because before Teithranen Athras Lavellan, Dalish elf, walks out of his rooms at Skyhold, he pauses and puts on The Inquisitor.

He pauses before he opens the door at the bottom of the stairs and you can watch the transformation happen.  He closes his eyes and presses his palms together, holding them over his chest. He mouths the words to an Elvhen prayer to Mythal, whose vallaslin he wears proudly on his face.  He takes a few deep breaths and straightens his spine. He pushes his shoulders back and lifts his head. He combs his fingers through his hair and straightens his shirt. He stills his expression and carefully packs away anything that’s worrying him and he physically puts on the armored enchanter’s coat with the Inquisition insignia on the coat fronts. 

He does all this in silence, so that when he steps out that door he’s not himself anymore.  He becomes the thing that Thedas so badly needs. The Inquisitor can’t waver, he can’t be afraid, he can’t appear to be uncertain or unknowing.  

Behind closed doors he’s just Tei.  Perfectly imperfect, anxious and worried about the people he’s drawn around him.  I’ve heard his cousins call him da’lath’in: they tell me it means ‘little heart’. An endearment used to describe someone who wears their heart on their sleeve and is very sympathetic to other people’s suffering.  And that describes Tei very well. Some people act like they care about the little people who get trampled on in war. But this kid actually does. He’s in over his head most of the time and he knows it but he still tries to do the Right Thing.

But he puts on another face, another posture for the Inquisition and he works very hard not to let that facade crack.  I can understand how the stories they tell of the Inquisitor get so large. It’s what stories do. They get bigger, and he’s given them a strong foundation to grow from.  Few ever see him faltering, crying, breaking apart. And those of us who have... we don’t talk about it. We just wait, letting have the space he needs, trying to keep back the wolves so that he has the time to put the armor back together.  And we let him be just Tei whenever we can. We invite him to games of Wicked Grace, we play practical jokes with him, we let him try to gather all the elfroot in the Hinterlands. We all smile and help cover for him when he slips off into the library to find Dorian for a few minutes of peace.  Whoever would have thought the Inquisition would be glad to have a mage from Tevinter around? It’s how you know it’s real. I could never make that crap up; it’s too incredible. No one would believe it in a novel.

I still don’t know what stories I’m going to tell when this is all over.  The real ones or the improbable lies? Who knows. For what it’s worth, my money is on extravagant lies.  


End file.
